There is nothing in this world that Tuffington Montgomery LaRoux, III, Esq. (or Tuffy for short) enjoys more than sunbathing. Every afternoon, Tuffy sprints out of the house – a golden, fuzzy blur of tongue and fur – to joyfully greet the sun. He plops onto the grass, rolls onto his back, and blissfully kicks his paws into the air, mouth wide and smiling. He finally rolls over with a loud and satisfied huff.
Tuffy is twelve years old, and a rescue dog. The day we met was unremarkable, for the most part – I had stopped by PetSmart to pick up dog food, and a local rescue group happened to be hosting an adoption event. Before I knew it, a very small (and very frightened) Tuffy was snuggled tightly in my arms. Seconds later, his head was firmly tucked under my chin. And then, he took a deep breath and sighed. I melted.
I named my new dog “Tuffy,” after the Beanie Baby my brother favored when we were children. “Tuffy the Terrier” seemed like a perfect fit, and for many years, Tuffy was a devoted, contemplative companion. He became famous for his “Tuffy Hugs,” and for his consistently cheerful disposition.